


gen.esis

by velificatio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Aliens, Body Horror, Cyberpunk, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/pseuds/velificatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stationed on Earth, Saito believes his mission is clear: observe, experiment, chronicle, but do not make contact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gen.esis

Mastering the practice of breathing is a daily ritual. The exercise inhabits approximately seven hours of Saito’s time on a weekly basis. It is filed in his diurnal schedule as “morning meditation”.

He inhales gradually, focused on the sensation of oxygen tickling the interior of his mouth and throat, of his lungs expanding. Then the shift of his chest downward as he exhales. Breathing is an unconscious action for humans and as such Saito must repeat these steps until it becomes natural to him as well. So natural he no longer has to give it thought.

In his original form he has a mouth that does not move. Not to smile, not to speak. He is a creature of stone, serpentine carved in the shape of human statues. Oxygen is an invasive element to him; the unspoken language of facial expressions more alien than Saito himself would claim to be. Signs and silence are his native language.

It is not difficult to feel separated from these creatures, from the world around him they refer to as Earth.

At night neon signs and digital images assault his visual senses. There is an endless stream of disembodied voices beckoning him throughout the streets of Tokyo to venture inside, sample wares. A technicolor siren’s refrain. Throughout the day feedback is generated through the rapid cycle of cellular conversations, text messaging and internet connectivity. All this communication with very little of value being communicated. Every person and every object has a voice it appears, that wants to you to listen to it.

Saito filters them at a constant rate. Tuning in, withdrawing, averting his attentions when need be. He has a daughter approximately twelve years and twenty days of age. Her voice is light in pitch, her laughter a rarity. If he were human, this would be cause for concern.

But what is the worth of a laugh when measured against the silence of the universe beyond this planet?

Today he has a conference with the board members of his businesses located in Spain and North America. They will be debating further international expansion while galaxies away light is engulfed in the gravitational lensing of a black hole. In the grand scheme of events one is more significant than the other.

The contrast is reminiscent of Saito’s station on this planet and his priorities. Homeland never sought to escape from its void, rather those who inhabited it gladly surrendered themselves. Save for the Observers such as himself who were left behind to wander and seek a new base for their operations.

 

+

 

As his personal assistant Daisuke inputs his destination into a vehicle transportation system that will drive his automobile to Proclus headquarters, Saito reprocesses the events of the prior night. This is the sequence of events he reminisces on:

_Bianca Aksel. Danish supermodel. Blonde haired with blue eyes, five foot seven in height. His personal file on her lists her age as twenty-five with three years’ experience in the business of private escorting._

_“This is new.” She says when the hologram projects her image into Saito’s hotel suite. It is a high-definition image encompassing not only Bianca in her teal negligee but the canopy bed behind her. No glitch or static distorts her; he can see clearly where her pale flesh is still moist from bathing._

_“I have decided to approach our liaisons in a more discreet manner.” Saito replies._

_He is two continents away from her in a high rise listed under his ownership, seated on a bed with white linen sheets. Fully dressed in his three-piece suit, the sexual organ he regards with mild disfavor is flaccid between his legs. No such reproductive characteristics existed within the population of Homeland. Sexual intercourse is an altogether foreign concept._

_“Whatever suits you. What do you want me to do?,” Bianca’s voice is coy. Meant to titillate and arouse. Neither response is provoked in Saito, but he is not here for pleasure. This is an experiment._

_“Pleasure yourself for me.” His words are spoken in a languid but authoritative drawl, emphasizing his accent and the depth of his voice._

_She moans in response, blue sliding down around her ankles, the bed dipping with from the weight of her body. Performance in the most vulnerable sense, when her fingertips trace over the pink areola on her breasts and smooth through trimmed blonde curls above her sex. He watches as the tempo of her breathing elevates, higher, higher as she swirls her index finger around her swollen pleasure gland. Watches the wet substance between her thighs smear over her skin, the tremble of her stomach when she penetrates herself with two fingers._

_From where he sits Saito can see past the valley of moist, pink flesh into the orifice as she draws her fingers away momentarily, spreading herself open. Such a notion that one could puncture another, place themselves inside them is unnerving. The thought of muscles contracting, flesh yielding to an invader, a substance sprung inside the host mutating into a new life form or simply being absorbed until there is no distinction between host and parasite…He does not understand the desire for such a union._

_In the earliest phase of his experiments he participated in intercourse without penetration, feeling he must subject himself to the experience to have a better grasp of the many memories of sexual encounters his host possessed. Now that his studies have progressed Saito can afford to put the distance he desires between them._

_His gaze is steady and his penis still soft as he reaches out. The holographic feed wavers, a slight glitch distorting Bianca’s image when he makes contact with it. His hand passes through the image of her open sex into the empty air of his room past the projection._

_She climaxes laid out on her back, with his hand still held inside the projection. He cannot see more than the plains of her body, wet and shuddering, her head arched back into the bed sheets._

_Saito removes his hand, wires cost of this transaction of flesh to her account with his cellular phone and disconnects the holographic feed._

In his car he stares at his hand for a moment. Naked exposure is a true danger in this world. The degree to which it is openly dispensed from one individual to another is staggering.

Open yourself far enough and an unwelcome invader is bound to creep inside.

 

+

 

The following is a compilation of factual information Saito has memorized regarding the skin he lives in:

 **Name:**  Saito Daichi

 **Date of birth:**  10/27/69

 **Birth Place:**  Osaka Prefecture, Tokyo 

 **Height:**  184 cm/ 6’0”

 **Weight:**  80kg/ 173 lbs

 **Body type:**  Mesomorph, Athletic build.

 **Blood type:** O Negative

 **Sexual Orientation:**  Bisexual

 **Significant Other(s):**  Yamada Mao

 **Children:**  Saito Hideki, Saito Aya 

 **Parents:**  Saito Jirou, Saito Izumi  

 **Siblings:**  Mitsuji Kaori

 **Extended Family:** Mitsuji Ichirou, Mitsuji Tsubasa, Mitsuji Hoshi, Mitsuji Tadashi

 **Occupations:**  Chief Executive Officer of Proclus Global

He has two mistresses and three lovers he pretends continue to engage him for the sake of his experimentation. Pastimes he enjoys include baseball and fine dining.

Additional facts he is aware of:

They are always watching.

They are always aware.

 

+

 

Mao is thirty eight years of age and an executive board member of Proclus Global.Their marriage spans two decades. Their emotional separation is comfortable for Saito.

He passes her in the lobby of Proclus, while she is conversing with the Chief of Engineering, whose miniature three dimensional image is being projected from her watch. She gives him her attention for a moment, nodding before resuming her conversation.

As is customary her gaze is sharp. Saito has learned the process of making calculations is a constant in her eyes. The various curvatures and formations she moves her lips into resemble a painting. He enjoys that aspect of deliberate precision she possesses. If she were from Homeland she would have been engraved with porcelain after being fashioned from marble.

He thinks if he desired it enough she could carve out a new crevice in his form. And she would slip between the cracks and jagged edges and seat herself in his foundation, take root and bloom into something that might resemble the sensation of love.

But he does not want her underneath his skin.

 

+

 

Haru is copyrighted intellectual property, an artificial lifeform manufactured by the **PASIV Institute** in Kyoto. Saito purchased him a year ago and houses him in the Osaka Prefecture. For these experiments they meet in person. This time during Saito’s lunch hour.

There is static playing on the flatscreen television suspended from the ceiling. Haru tells Saito he can decipher patterns and messages from the feedback, that the sound is a relaxing one. He allows it to remain on as they proceed.

“A four inch incision is as far as you can go this time Mr. Saito.” Haru hands him a silver scalpel as he disrobes. He folds his sweater and slacks, leaving them in a neat pile beside their zabutons. “No further than the exoskeleton. The technical assistants are still upset over the nexus wire in my mainframe being scratched.”

“I paid for your repairs and the skin graft replacement,” Saito says. “Their protests are moot point.”

Strands of black hair fall out of the bun Haru has assembled his hair into as he nods. “Humans are...possessive of what they create. Even after it is sold off.”

The flesh covering Haru’s exoskeleton is grown from grafts of skin donated by deceased humans, revitalized and replicated in a lab. It feels as authentic as it is, but knowing it is the mere surface of another species entirely- Saito is willing to touch him.

He brushes his fingers down Haru’s neck and chest to his navel. There is a softness in that flesh, more vulnerability. He repeats the path with his scalpel, puncturing no deeper than four inches as instructed. Delicately he smooths the tips of two fingers down the incision, and with care slips his hand inside.

There’s no fatty substance or blood to stain his hand, just the warmth of Haru’s plexiglass exoskeleton, the sparks and charges of cyclical electricity Saito can feel humming underneath his palm.

“When I do this,” He asks, “what do you feel?”

Haru makes a strange noise, best described as a snort. “Externally? Pressure, a sense of heaviness routing through my data. Internally, I’m more curious than anything Mr. Saito. What do you feel, if I may ask?”

He debates answering him. In truth because Saito has yet to reach a intellectual conclusion to his experiments with Haru, who sits along a strange border between humans and his own kind. He could be one of Them, were he assembled from stone rather than wires or data.

“I feel energy,” He says. “More human than what they call humanity.”

At times he ponders if Haru is aware Saito is not human himself. There is a divide between them that is different than the space he shares with Mao and other humans. It is a narrow divide, closing in even further when Haru tentatively places his hand over where Saito is still inside of him.

But the space remains in existence.

 

+

 

He keeps his mind cycling throughout the day, only dwelling on subjects for as long as he must. Never pondering on his interactions or activities outside a professional sense. It is dangerous to linger on topics for the sake of recreation. The risk of internal compromise arises.

Separation is key to Saito’s assignment. However close he approaches his subjects, part of him must always remain at a distance.

 

+

 

Divergence is a necessary aspect in his business role that occurs on several occasions. Saito is a being able to adapt without altering the formation of his character.

Such a trait is an essential one.

Two days prior his cyber security unit brought to his attention a hacker who managed to infect his system mainframe and encrypt several confidential documents relating to board decisions. To Saito’s displeasure this breach was not discovered until a full forty-eight hours after the malware was introduced. Employment terminations were met out swiftly.

Humans consistently fall short when held to an expectation of perfection. Saito knows this well. Nevertheless it is a standard he upholds.

The man seated across from him in the back of his sports utility vehicle is all too human. His hair is slicked back, his ears stick out, the Rolex watch, tailored black slacks and vest he’s wearing are at odds and various rustic chains around his hip as well as his combat boots. There’s small a golden piercing with a diamond in its center looped through his nose and he’s wearing fingerless leather gloves. He is a conglomeration of contradictions.

He is the hacker, tracked down in France by the head of Saito’s security, Kenta, who sits beside him with a semi-automatic pistol aimed at this Mr. Arthur’s right temple.

Despite the situation Arthur’s posture remains straight. “I don’t work for any corporation or group, alright? I’m strictly freelance.”

“As I’d gathered,” Saito says. “Part of the reason why Cobol Engineering would seek your services. No direct tie lies between you two.”

Arthur frowns, the remark is clearly a blow to his pride and he demonstrates such by responding. “I’m not second rate hacker they picked off street. I’m damn good at what I do.”

“It is not wise to gloat Mr. Arthur, given your position,” Saito watches the passing blur of multi-colored lights from the passenger widow as he speaks. “And you do not strike me as a fool. I am aware of your merit in your chosen field, which is why you are being granted an audience with me rather than my security alone.”

Arthur relents but he is attempting to catch Saito’s gaze, not chastened to the point of submissiveness but neither foolish enough to continue his irrelevant protests. When Saito at last spares him a glance, Arthur’s eyes are assessing, attentive. He’s clearly configuring all he’s uncovered about Saito and his compromised standing with Cobol Engineering in an attempt to find possible outcomes of this situation.

So he is a survivalist as well as a man of fine details. However Saito wonders if his loyalty can be so easily purchased. He is surprised his interested has been sustained to the point he desires to test this human.

He holds Arthur’s stare for under a minute. “I know you have been stealing from your employer just as you have stolen on my company. Give me the name of your liaison within Cobol Engineering.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens. This human is too open in his facial expressions. Abnormal for a career thief. “No, not going to happen.”

Saito says nothing. Instead he taps the partition of the vehicle twice, his expression revealing nothing as their cruiser makes a sudden turn into an alley. Interestingly Arthur has not wavered in his conviction, though he must surely know where this turn of events is leading.

“Is there truly any honor amongst thieves Mr. Arthur?” Saito asks as Kenta opens the passenger door and begins to haul Arthur out of the car. “I will ask you only once more; your inside contact?”

Kenta cracks the barrel of his gun across Arthur’s face before shoving him down to his knees. It’s all very standard and unremarkable.

What deviates from the mundane is Arthur’s response. “I don’t care about other thieves,” he coughs, blood spilling from his lips. “I care about this person. And I’m not telling you who they are.”

There’s a defiance to his gaze that is not borne from youthful bravado (which never outlasts the reality of certain death), Saito can tell. It says, predator to apex predator, _I have been waiting for someone with the stones to overcome me and deal the killing blow_. A message far too old for such a young man to send out.

Saito’s interest is piqued.

In a second deviation of the night, he does not strike the killing blow.

 

+

 

Observe key aspects of human life. Analyze relationship dynamics and interaction patterns. Document your findings. These are the core objectives that constitute Saito’s assignment to Earth. They want to know if this planet is suitable for Them.

In light of his assignment Mr. Arthur should be labeled as solely another subject for Saito’s experiments. This is not the case. Saito’s interest in this particular human expands beyond the range of scientific curiosity. A novel experience and for that reason he cannot simply dismiss this interest. He must examine and scrutinize it until he reaches understanding.

To that end he informs Arthur he will be instructing Saito’s cyber intelligence unit on his hacking methods and sets him up in a luxury hotel suite. It goes without saying he will be monitoring Arthur’s activities.

Arthur surveys the layout of the suite and spends two minutes looking at the bruise forming on his right cheek in the bathroom mirror. Afterwards he spends an hour using the hotel’s personal portable computer under an assumed name to order various items of clothing and electronics he has teleported to his suites material generator. Then he attempts to run a wireless interference signal using his Rolex, to no avail.

Saito is in his office, watching Arthur through a televised video feed. For the sake of appearance he is eating a meal he does not require to sustain himself.

Arthur orders a boiled lobster, garden salad and white wine from the kitchen. He sits cross-legged on in his black tank top and briefs on the master bed to eat, alternating between using his fork and fingers with the lobster.

On the labtop he purchased he is pulling up a video chat with a man Saito’s cyber unit identifies as Nash Irving, career criminal originating from New York and former drug cartel operative. The separate internet feed Saito is viewing from his phone displays the man with a bandage over his nose and a prominent bruise around his left eye.

“Arthur,” Nash drawls, “I can’t say I’m happy to see you, given how we went our separate ways in Paris.”

Arthur spears at his lettuce with his fork. “Deal with it. That job I did on your nose? You deserved it. You’re a shitty programmer and that malware you made for me was bullshit.”

“It got the job done didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and left trail right back to me. It was supposed to replicate once it reached the hard drive but guess what Nash? It didn’t fucking do that.”

“So you’re going to bitch about it to me for the next fifteen minutes?” Nash is rolling his eyes. “From where I’m standing it seems to have all worked out peachy for you. You’re looking pretty cozy in that five star bed. Eames will be so upset over the missed opportunity…”

Arthur snorts. “The last time I saw Eames he was wearing the face of a seventy year old bank accountant, thanks to what I imagine was a very expensive blackmarket facial projector mask, and he stole twenty grand from me. So you can tell him that the next time I see him I’m breaking his nose too.”

“I’m off the grid for the time being, so that’s unlikely.”

“But you’ve still got what I want, right? Because if not why are we even talking?”

“You sure you want to do this transaction from your current location?”

“Please. Every major business with a teleportation generator is wired these days and the underground hasn’t managed to get their hands on a reliable one yet,” Arthur points to the wall behind him with his fork. “Electro-magnetic video surveillance embedded throughout the walls, tower taps on every outgoing or incoming digital contact. Besides, I hacked the hotel database to confirm the obvious: my new employer is the owner. I doubt the police are coming anywhere near this building.”

Nash leans back in his chair, lighting a cigarette. “Whatever you say. I can’t believe you’re still ordering this shit. Never pegged you the type to be looking for a squeeze.”

“Don’t assume you know my reasons asshole.” Arthur says. “Just beam my shit to me or I’ll take my money elsewhere.”

“And get half the quality you want. But as you wish.”

Arthur sends a cash transfer of five-hundred North American dollars from an account in California to one held by Nash in Texas. He ruffles his hair as he walks to the generator in the main room, where a bottle of white capsules appears. When Arthur opens the bottle and pours two pills into his hand Saito sends an image of them to Kenta for identification.

His growing personal file on Arthur has yet to uncover his true identity but lists a string of aliases and pseudonym _iparadox_ as his hacking signature. Based on what Saito has observed he’s concluded Arthur is a man with a large circle of contacts but few he keeps truly close. It does not escape Saito’s attention that Arthur has only made contact with one person since he came into Saito’s employment and it was for a drug transaction. It is not unreasonable, attachments are defects for the industry Arthur is involved with.

His interest should be satiated, reduced to boredom. However Saito believes there is more worth examining than what he is being shown.

As Arthur swallows both the capsules and begins to make his way to the bathing area, Saito reduces the surveillance frame, returning to his meal as he awaits Kenta’s report.

 

+

 

He receives it seven minutes later.

“Those are somnacin capsules. Part sedative, part hallucinogenic, illegal in North America, Europe and East Asia,” Kenta says. “Street names bliss and love drug. Users say when it enters your system you can telepathically connect with people you share the same energetic current with.”

“Is it addictive?” Saito asks.

“There is a risk of dependency related to the major side effect. Long term usage results in losing the ability to dream naturally.”

Saito takes this information in as he gazes out of his office windows, down at the multicolored Tokyo skyline, the various signs and projection screens, the mass of humans moving about the streets, illuminated only be the light of electronics, sometimes fading into shadows like dying stars.

Why does a man in Arthur’s line of work want to connect so intimately with potentially random individuals? Is this a manifestation of that human emotion they call loneliness?

Every human has a vulnerability. Is this Arthurs?

Moments after he dismisses Kenta the head of his cyber unit reports to him that Arthur has also attempted to hack his private electronic mail account without success. Given Cobol Engineering’s ambitions it serves no immediate purpose to try and glean information from Saito’s personal life. Unless Arthur is hoping to gain leverage he could sell to the highest bidder rather than turn over to Cobol. Given he’d been spying on his previous employer that is most likely the case.

In any case this is news Saito will explore further in the coming morning. For now he retires to his mansion.

 

+

 

The following morning Saito performs his morning routine as usual. While on route to Proclus he texts his secretary, informing him he wants Arthur escorted to his office upon his arrival.

He is reading over the day’s stock market percentages when Arthur is shown in and does not address him until he is finished. A common technique emphasizing their power dynamics.

“Have a seat Mr. Arthur.”

Arthur is dressed appropriately professional. The nose ring is absent as are the chains, boots and leather gloves, in their place is a well-fitted three piece suit cashmere and a burgundy tie. He sits upright in the mahogany chair opposite of Saito’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Saito places his digital tablet down. “The head of my cyber unit has informed me you attempted to hack into my private email account.”

Arthur blinks but otherwise shows no visible reaction. “I take it my employment is going to be very short-lived?” His tone is dry. Deceptively so, from the rigidness of his posture alone Saito can tell he is growing tense.

There are a multitude of ways an individual can smile, each hinting at various emotions. Saito’s is slight, a thin curve of his lips that could have been formed at the tip of a blade. It is meant to rouse unease and it does.

“That depends Mr. Arthur.” He holds up a hand when Arthur attempts to respond, silencing him. “On your motivations for doing so. And do not presume to believe you can deceive me. It is in your best interest to be honest.”

He rises from his chair then, leisurely rounding the desk to come to stand in front of Arthur. An internal debate is clearly being waged inside Arthur’s mind, he is openly frowning.

Saito increases the pressure. “I have not allotted you an indefinite amount of time to answer me Mr. Arthur. You have only three minutes before I release you to my security team.”

“I strayed okay?” Arthur says, holding Saito’s gaze. “I diverged from my job because, well because you intrigued me. It was a rookie mistake but that was my motivation. I was right there in the Proclus database, I couldn’t pass the opportunity up.”

Outwardly Saito’s only reaction is to tilt his head slightly. In his mind however he is rapidly reconfiguring this information. This is not the petty, monetary drive he had suspected was at play. And he is intrigued himself, the picture of Arthur he is attempting to form continues to dissolve before he can get a firm grasp of the man.

“What were you hoping to find?” Saito asks.

“Honestly? The man behind the CEO of an enterprise. It’s cliché I know, but everyone in power wears a persona, puts their best face forward. Usually I don’t care enough to want to look beyond that unless I’m looking for a score.” Arthur swallows hard before continuing. “But you, Cobol managed to get pictures of you off work, at a baseball game, at a restaurant with your kids and wife. And in every single picture I looked at it’s like you’re an entire universe away and nothing that’s happening is able to move you. I thought there has to be something deeper going on and I wanted to find out what it was.”

Undoubtedly the most accurate description of Saito’s relation to human life ever provided by another person. Its accuracy raises Saito’s guard along with something else, which he has never felt before. Only observed from the memories of the former host of this skin he now lives in. A sense of, excitement? Yes, he feels adrenaline. And _desire_.

Arthur sits in an uneasy silence as Saito withdraws his phone sends a short text.

“You’re dismissed.” Saito says, not looking up from his phone. “Chiyo will escort you to the cyber unit.”

There is a pause where Arthur does not move at first. Then it appears he thinks better of whatever action he was going to proceed with and stands.

For a brief moment they are in close proximity. It strikes Saito that he wants to touch him, not to manipulate or provoke a response, but because he _wants_ to. Instead he watches Arthur depart.

These emotions are too raw for him to act upon without fully understanding them.

 

+

 

That night Saito observes Mao and their daughter watching home videos. He sits with them on the sofa, because this is an activity the previous Saito took pleasure in and for hours he laughs at the appropriate moments, his gaze warm on Aya whenever she looks at him. She falls asleep with her head resting on his chest and he carries her to her bedroom, gently laying her down and covering her.

Mao is slipping into a purple evening gown when Saito enters their bedroom. Preparing for a discreet night with her lover Saito has a personal file on. He does not observe her activities with him.

“You pleased Aya very much tonight,” Mao tells him as she applies her silver earrings. “And myself as well.”

Saito kisses her neck lightly, her perfume too strong for his liking. “We did agree moments of happiness are vital to one’s overall success.”

“Indeed, I suspect her test scores will be even higher than before.” Mao touches his arm, lingering for a moment. “I’ll be back after 11.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

After she leaves Saito reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a small bottle of somnacin, brought to him by Kenta on his lunch hour at his request. He stares at the two capsules for a moment, pondering his next course of action.

In truth Saito is not immune to emotions, he feels various ones on a routine basis. What he refuses to do is dwell on them, immerse himself in them, if they do not suit an intellectual purpose. This experiment straddles a thin line between scientific objectives and personal curiosity. A line Saito is confident he can walk without losing his footing.

In this substance, he believes he will find a key aspect of Arthur’s character.

He swallows both capsules, lies back on his bed and waits for the drug to take effect.

 

+

 

What he first experiences is a hazy sort of heaviness, time receding into a slow crawl. When Saito moves is arms it’s as though he is viewing his actions in gradual motion, a blur following each line of movement. There is feedback playing behind his eyelids, then multi-colored video waves distorting the daytime view of Tokyo he is able to watch from the view of his office windows. He sees himself as a statue, as his true form, standing in front of his bed. It reaches its serpentine hand out but as it nears Saito it begins to crumble and collapse, as though he were experiencing a landslide.

Images flash before him. A figurative painting hung alone in a black room. Various lines of source coding cascading from the ceiling. Redacted lines on an intelligence document. White curtains brightening into an explosion of light.

Even with such visual displays assaulting his senses, Saito’s breathing only deepens. A void unravels from the corner of his eyes, wider and wider until it engulfs everything in its path.

 

+

 

He believes he dreams that night.

The setting is a room that is stark white – devoid of any furnishing or distinguishing characteristic. Above him lies the figure of the Monolith, imposing with all its seamless lines and edges, its black granite reflecting nothing beneath it.

His icon. His god.

Gray plumes of smoke filter past his eyes. Saito gazes to the right, his line of vision descending up a complex design of matrix coding beginning at the heel of a foot, ascending up the span of a pale leg, over hip and ribcage and higher still to complete its journey at the nape of Arthur’s neck. He is nude, his body slick with sweat as he inhales a cigarette.

Saito’s gaze returns to the Monolith, however not for long. Arthur’s flesh is slippery and warm on his serpentine form as he straddles him. Lips pink, moist, press over Saito’s unmoving mouth then down his chin. The breaths Arthur exhales warm the coldness of his stone form; he would shudder if he could. Nimble fingers smooth over his flank, tracing the etched definitions of his pelvis and groin. Arthur’s cock is erect on that flat surface, dripping fluid as he offers his cigarette to Saito.

“Smoke?”

Strangely Saito cannot move his arms or hands to signal his refusal. Arthur clicks his tongue, moving the cigarette away. Sweat drips off his neck, rolling down the carved tendons of Saito’s neck to pool in a small chip on his collarbone. He does not enjoy the wetness engulfing his form, that beads on Arthur’s skin and smears over his serpentine. The substance feels vulnerable, innately human.

It accumulates beneath his surface, creeps into the hollowness within Saito and pitter, pitter, patter to become a puddle of something boiling. The weight of his body feels colossal with the swell of an emotion he cannot choke down. He does not even remember how to breathe. This sensation might be dread.

“Nothing ever penetrates you, does it?” Arthur pants, writhing on top of Saito. His body slides in a sleek, inelegant motion over Saito’s serpentine, covering him with more perspiration. “Not this nicotine, definitely not me. You’re a fucking vault with no entrance or exit.”

Except Arthur has maneuvered beneath his surface with his secretions, his sweat and skin cells.

The veins on Arthur’s cock drag against Saito’s groin, its weeping head grinding over his hip. He climaxes with his eyes hooded, but open, staring down at Saito. A sticky, warm substance streaks Saito’s body, trickling down into fissures forming on his abdomen. In Arthur’s pupils he can see his own reflection, unblinking, face unmoved. Above them the Monolith has begun to descend.

Unable to speak, to move his limbs Saito can be nothing but silent in this seizure of his control.

Arthur lays his head on Saito’s shoulder, tracing over his mouth with a thumb. “If you don’t want to be touched, why are you even here?”

A thought passes through Saito’s mind: _I am merely a tourist, an Observer. I do not make contact_.

 

+

 

Saito spends thirty additional minutes in meditation the following morning. His skin is cold, he has an erection but otherwise the side effects of the somnacin capsules are mild. As he dresses in his suit Saito attempts to process the prior night’s events.

Contact has been established, however he does not understand the full ramifications of what that means. He had wanted to experience the full effects of somnacin, gain further understanding of Arthur. What he comes away with are more unsettling questions and few answers.

Saito does not feel fundamentally altered by what he experienced. Rather it is as though a window he’s kept closed has been opened, by his own hands no less. He’s dwelling more than he allows himself to but he conscious of that fact, permissive. Control has not been lost, although the scope of his observations has widened.

He realizes he too must become a subject if he wants to reach an end to deciphering this puzzle of Arthur. That he must be willing to explore his own responses.

 

+

 

Surveillance cameras show Arthur moving through the crowded space of Tokyo’s underground subway system. Saito has let the day carry on its regular schedule without summoning Arthur into his office. Now it is 10 pm and freshly changed from his office suit, Arthur waits on a platform in a high collared white and gold peacoat jacket with a black undershirt. His nose ring is back in place as are the chains slung around his white leather pants.

He appears in his most comfortable space, lost amongst the mass of individuals, with his transparent headset scanning through the various digital conversations occurring. Hidden from the sight of all but Saito, who has sent Kenta to bring Arthur to him. The only member of his security team adept at following Arthur without being detected.

Of course he could have called for Arthur’s presence before he even left Proclus but Saito is at his mansion now, Mao attending an art gala, and he wants to throw Arthur off balance. Throughout the day he himself has remained confident, competent. His experience with the somnacin has brought with it clarity and more curiosity.

As the camera shows Kenta stepping up beside Arthur, placing a hand on his shoulder, Saito takes a sip of his wine and waits. By the time the car pulls into his driveway, he has moved from the study to the kitchen.

Arthur stands stiff in the entryway, warily glancing about the home. It is not a quick sweep, his eyes are deliberately taking in each detail. A quality Saito finds most appealing.

“Your muscle is an asshole.” Arthur says by way of greeting.

Amused Saito takes another drink. “He was not hired on the basis of his personality.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

He is appropriately on his guard but not as great a degree as Saito is expecting. It occurs to him that its possible Arthur remains unaware they shared a dream. As he decides in what manner he wishes to proceed Arthur shifts his weight from one foot onto the other.

“Look, Mr. Saito,” He says carefully, “We both know I’m not in the best position to make demands but it’d be great to know why I’m here-“

“Because I wish for you to be,” Saito cuts him off, his face impassive as he proceeds. “And _if you don’t want to be touched, why are you even here_?”

There is anticipation rising in him as he watches the color drain from Arthur’s face.

“Holy shit. That was actually you?”

Saito takes a step closer. Arthur doesn’t move. “You were under the impression it was not?”

“I…I thought you were a subconscious manifestation of mine.” Arthur runs his hand over his face, looking away. “I’ve been taking somnacin for years without ever syncing up with people. It’s…”

“It’s what?”

“The only way I can dream anymore. But wait, when you sync with others you’re shown in your most uncovered state.” Arthur’s gaze gradually shifts from confusion to muted wonder. “You’re not human. And you’re not an AIL either.”

They are face to face inside the entryway, the lighting dim, emphasizing the fine cut of Arthur’s cheekbones. If Saito took another step forward he would bump into him. It’s an almost frightening amount of proximity he relishes in.

“No,” He says. “I am not.”

Arthur laughs then, but it’s not borne of humor. It sounds in near disbelief.

“Every time I feel I have some understanding of you, you pop up and catch me by surprise.” Arthur licks his lips as he speaks. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you fully. I’m not sure I should.”

Saito takes a step forward. This time Arthur does back up, until he collides with the door. However he does not look afraid. He appears the way Saito feels. Excited. In anticipation.

It feels natural, putting his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, sliding them up to his neck. Such a vulnerable position. He could pull him in for kiss this way. Or snap his neck. “Then why did you touch me?”

Arthur’s hands cover his own, they’re surprisingly soft. “Because I feel…separate. And I think you feel that way too. Touch me, if you want.”

He does, deeply. Between his legs Saito’s cock is hard, pressing against the slacks of his pants and then against Arthur’s own erection as he crowds him against the door. The kiss he gives him is insistent, warm and Arthur moans into it, the sound carrying an abnormal clicking element to it. Then he is opening his mouth wider. Inviting Saito to slip further inside.

Which he does, without hesitation.

 

+

 

Sunlight filters through the towering windows of Saito’s guest bedroom, rousing him from sleep. His left foot twitches when its toes brush against an ankle. Arthur’s ankle. He is on his stomach with an arm wrapped around Arthur’s bare waist.

As he watches him sleep Saito runs through his breathing routine, all the while memories of the night before play through his mind.

His hands on Arthur’s body, pressing him into the mattress, memorizing the feel of his skin. Lips on a trembling throat, hands in his hair, then on his backside. Pulling him as close as possible as they ground together, their cocks hot and tightly pressed between their bodies. Arthur’s head falling back into the pillows, that clicking moan echoing when Saito pressed a finger inside of him. Revulsion did not seize him once; he wanted only more of himself inside Arthur. To be as close to him as physically possible.

Now Saito itches with the same desire, seeing Arthur nude and laid out on his back beside him. One of his legs is slung over Saito’s calve. Light illuminates the tattoo running up the left side his body. Saito wants to trace that pattern.

It alarms him how strong this urge is, how it stands in stark contrast to the distance he strives for between his other subjects. Is Arthur truly even a subject to Saito? Was he ever? Did his interest ever hold a scientific property or did he merely tell himself it did as an excuse to move closer?

Slowly Saito slides his leg out from under Arthur’s, not intending to awaken him but he does so anyway. Arthur groans, stretching out, turning his face away from the windows towards Saito.

“Your mind never stops running.” He says, quiet. “What are you thinking about?”

Saito moves his arm off Arthur’s waist. He evades an honest response. “You’re not human.”

“The moaning gave me away huh?” Arthur laughs. “Yeah, that’s one of the more obvious glitches I’ve got. Medically speaking not all of me is human anymore but most of me is.”

“What are you?”

“The future of medical technology, one of the first successful cyborgs. This tattoo, it’s actually the genesis code of the corporation that performed the biotechnical transfer operation that revived me. Sort of like a company signature.” Arthur tapped his temple with a finger. “And they did a bio-ocular transplant on my left eye. Replaced most of my neck, part of my brain, the leg I lost in the accident. I’d be bitter about Cobb forging my consent to experimentation so they could do the operation, but I was in a comatose state so in the long run he did me a favor.”

“You are grateful, then?” Saito studies Arthur closely. He does not appear uncomfortable in his skin.

“Sure but the thing is, I never felt so apart from other humans before they hardwired me.” Arthur sighed. “I feel isolated with AIL’s too. My feet are in another place of existence entirely.”

Overcome, Saito touches the line of ink running down Arthur’s flank, nodding. He does not say he understands but Arthur appears to pick up on the implication nonetheless.

“Where do you come from?” He asks, touching the hair on Saito’s chin. “I won’t tell anyone, if you’re worried.”

Surprisingly Saito is not. “A dead world.”

That is all he will tell him. There are too many new variables at play and They, he knows, are out there watching him even now.

 

+

 

A momentary distraction arrives in the form of a call from PASIV technicians. A distress signal was generated by Haru’s mainframe and they arrived to find his nexus wire had been pierced. They believe the wound was self-inflicted, though Haru refuses to confirm or deny their suspicions.

Saito has been monitoring Haru’s daily activities in his household on a regular basis. There are periods in which he does not observe him and so it is feasible he had the opportunity. Likewise Saito himself already has theories as to Haru’s likely motivations.

Left to his own devices in a home, unable to work without Saito’s consent, Haru is cloistered. Restlessness it appears has set in.

A technician is still at the house when he arrives and promptly presents Saito with the bill for their services and a suggestion he schedule a psychosomatic appointment to review the state of Haru’s internal programming. His behavioral malfunctions, the technician assures, are nothing a hard-drive sweep and reformatting by cleaners can’t resolve. Saito watches him depart before making his way to the bedroom.

He parts the fusuma to see Haru seated on his futon in a burgundy robe open to his navel. In his lap he has a pen and parchment upon which he has drawn a disembodied pair of eyes. He does not look up when Saito enters the room.

“You’ve been purposefully damaging your nexus wire.” Saito says, placing his hands over one another in front of himself. “I want to know why.”

Haru shuts his eyes for a moment. When he at last glances at Saito there is that palpable emotion once more, humanity. This time awash with sadness.

“To be seen.”

Saito knows his expression has been impassive, he does not relent quite yet. “Our meetings occur on a weekly basis.”

“Yes, for over a year now, yet you still refuse to use me for what I was programmed for.” Haru wraps his arms around his waist, looking away from Saito. “I’m a pleasure line model Mr. Saito. I _want_ to be wanted, but all you want to do is study and dissect me.”

Although a small part of him contemplates it, Saito does not move closer. “So you harm yourself for the sake of what? A few hours with technicians who will pry at you as well as voice complaints?”

“At least I know they feel something for me. I can see it when they look at me, I can hear it in their voices.” Haru’s fingers touch beneath his eyes, as though he expects to find tears there. “But with you, everything is empty. I look into your eyes and I can’t see anything.”

Whatever initial response Saito is preparing to make is suddenly cut off by the echo of words he heard just hours earlier: _“I just feel…separate. And I think you feel it too.”_

His emotional separation is in full play here, in the space between Haru and himself. Both psychologically and physically Saito is purposefully holding himself apart from the loneliness that is so clearly being displayed to him.

Startlingly he finds it is impossible to contemplate how he will proceed with Haru without reflecting on his actions with Arthur. Nevertheless Saito wants the space between Haru and himself to remain in effect.

He will not send Haru back to the Institute, replace him, but neither will he allow this behavior to continue. Idly watching Haru descend into self-destruction, it is…pointless. He still has value to him, there is an alternative solution that Saito believes they will both be content with.

“Retire to bed early tonight.” He tells Haru. “Tomorrow morning a car will arrive to take you to Proclus at 5 am. You will begin your training to become a member of my secretarial staff.”

Haru stares at him in disbelief for a moment. “I’ve requested being able to work before and refused. What-“

“I can no longer disregard the negative impact your isolation is having on you.” Saito turns to leave, the conversation completed in his mind.

“But you were fine just watching before.” Haru presses. “Who are they? Who’s gotten under your skin?”

His words strike a chord with Saito. He does not face him for fear his face will reveal too much.

“You needn’t concern yourself with that. I will see you in the office tomorrow.”

 

+

 

Arthur is…

Burnt soil, tar melting over the codes and encryptions of a sense amplifier, a sudden outgrowth of vines along the fissures now lining Saito’s ribs.

Arthur is invasive. Irregular. An abnormality that feels like natural under Saito’s flesh.

He is a man who hacks. A man who maneuvers his way past all defense and security to uncover knowledge not meant for his eyes.

And he has compromised Saito.

 

+

 

They are always watching. They are always aware. It stands to reason They must have known this would likely happen to him, this stepping outside of his role as an Observer.

He doesn’t understand why They sent him here.

But when Saito feels a seismic shift in the ground beneath his feet as he makes his way towards his Proclus office, he knows he will soon have answers. The few employees remaining in the building at such a late hour are immune to the vibrations. It is a sign meant for Saito alone.

He finds both of Them standing beside his desk. One of them composed of sandstone, the other marble. They use their sign language to greet him.

“You’ve been following my studies for years.” Saito does not keep the accusation out of his tone. Faltering is not an act he is familiar with. “Why did you allow this to happen?”

 _It is not a problem if you have come to care for them_ , one of them says. _This is what we had hoped for_.

“Explain.”

One of them moves towards the windows, staring outside as they sign _. Our role as Observers limits our ability to fully experience life, As such we had decided to search for a Homeworld where we could integrate with its populace, and live out our lives without being confined to isolated duties_.

Saito moves forward carefully, a sense of relief seizing him as he does. He has not failed Them. “So it is not an issue, that I have been touched?”

 _No. We apologize for not making you aware of our ultimate goal initially when we woke you. You must understand the process had to happen organically, without preconception, for us to be assured it was genuine_.

“There is no need.” Saito can understand their reasoning, the practicality of it helps him let go of any anger he might feel over being an unwitting subject himself, all this time. “What do we do now?”

 _The rest of us will find hosts and merge as you have. We will join you on Earth in new flesh, with new lives_.

 

+

 

Saito has lost a part of himself. His detachment to everyone surrounding him has fractured. He has not, however, invited the whole world to touch him. To see him, to know him beyond the surface.

Just a select few.

Tonight he meets one in particular, who stands in their hotel suite doorway now, gives him a small smile and invites Saito to venture inside and touch him once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Stylistically, this fic is heavily influenced by Lovecraftian horror


End file.
